


Supersoldier Healing

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But like evil ones so no one really cares, Evil Crab Robots, Fluff, Gen, Happy Steve Bingo 2018, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mild Language, Prompt Fill, Protective Avengers, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, violence against robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: When Steve gets hit by a gas that knocks out his healing abilities, the team bands together.





	Supersoldier Healing

The alarm in the tower goes off at two in the morning. 

Now, it’s true that Steve is a bit of an insomniac these days. Which is why it’s even more annoying that he’s out of bed during the few hours when he IS asleep.

He does his best to seem professional and leader-ly when he meets the rest of the team assembled in the common area. 

Tony makes no such effort. “What the fuck is so important that we’re all up at this hour?” 

“Tony, you barely sleep anyway,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Exactly. It’s my alone time, where I don’t have to see any of you and I can actually get some work done. So, I’ll repeat myself. Why are we _all_ up at this hour?”

“Sir, if I may interject,” JARVIS cuts in drily. “The city would appear to be under attack.” 

“Tony, can you have suits take the ones who can’t fly?” Steve asks, slipping quickly into captain mode.

“Can do, Cap. JARVIS, send a couple ahead to scout the scene.” 

“Yes, sir,” the AI responds immediately. 

“Here.” Tony tosses a small black bracelet to Natasha and Clint. “Put it on, the suits will take care of the rest.” 

“Aw, crap, I hate flying in these things,” Clint mumbles, holding it distrustfully. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Merida, would you rather walk?” 

“Enough,” Steve says, exasperated. “Clint, put on the bracelet. Thor, Sam, you can fly. Bruce, you stay put for now, we’ll send for you if we need you.” 

When everyone nods, he turns to Tony. “I’m assuming I’m riding with you?” 

“Yep. Buckle up, Spangles.” A suit forms around Tony at the touch of a button, and the window behind them opens. Tony hooks an arm around Steve’s waist, and Steve barely has time to put his earpiece in before they’re off. 

...

It turns out this week’s supervillain scheme is robots. 

Tony sets him down down the street from where the majority of the robots are clustered, and then takes off to examine the situation from the air. 

The creatures are crab-like, all glinting metal and black eyes. They clamber over cars and buildings, ripping chunks out with wickedly sharp pincers as they go. Luckily, it looks like if there were any civilians on the street when this started, they either had the good sense to get out of the area or have already been evacuated by police. However, Steve can see people in at least one of the nearby office buildings, probably late-night workers, clustered on one of the higher floors looking out.

“Do we know where these things came from yet?” he asks over the coms. 

“Not conclusively, but they have Hammer tech written all over them,” Clint’s voice says in his ear. Down the street, there’s a small explosion, and the first of the robots crumples. Up above, Steve can just make out the outline of Clint on one of the roofs, nocking another arrow. 

He sees Natasha’s suit set down on the other end of the street. 

“Nat, Tony, Thor, keep them distracted. Sam, stay in the air and keep us updated on their movements. I’m heading into the building to try and get the civilians out.” 

There’s a clear path if he sticks to the shadows to what looks to be a service door, and he slips through without issue. He heads up the stairwell. That it’s an office building this late at night means less people and no kids, which is a plus. He clears the first floor and heads for the second. Outside, one of the crabs skitters up the windows and out of view. 

There’s no one on floors two, three, or four either. Floor five, however, has a small group huddled by the windows. They turn quickly when he comes in, and the relief on their faces is visible even from across the large room. 

“Come on,” Steve orders, and they hurry across to him. “The building is safe for now. I’m going to escort you downstairs and get you out of the area, okay?” The small group nods quickly.

Steve looks over their shoulders, and his eyes widen. “Get back!” he yells, shoving past them and raising his shield, right as the window explodes inward.

The others scream, the sound blending with the metallic chittering noise the creature makes as it clambers through the shattered frame. It snaps sharp pincers at him, dark lenses glittering. 

He throws his shield, taking out two legs. It chatters, its legs shifting to balance its own weight. A small panel where its mouth would be falls open, and a canister slides out, bouncing on the carpet. Immediately, blue gas begins to spill out, pooling on the floor around their feet and steadily rising higher.

“Cover your mouths and noses and get to the stairwell!” he yells to the workers, and turns back to the creature as they flee. 

He moves quickly. He takes out another three of its six remaining legs, and as it adjusts, whirring, he pounces, leaping onto its back. 

The pincers twist to grab at him, and he wraps his arms around one, pinning it shut. It strains to open, a high-pitched whirring coming from the circuitry. Simultaneously, he strikes with the edge of his shield, aiming for the joint of the other arm where it meets the body. 

He doesn’t quite make it. 

The machine takes advantage of the opening to slash at his abdomen. Steve grunts, the pain snapping through him like an electric shock.

The adrenaline keeps hims moving. He strikes again, this time severing the pincer itself. The rest of the arm flails, wires sparking off the end, and he brings the shield down as hard as he can into the eye-like lenses, cleaving through the metal and circuitry like butter.

Beneath him, the machine sways. The other pincer falls limp, and he releases it. Slowly, the machine tilts, and he leaps off just before it crashes to the ground. 

The victory is short lived. The blue gas is getting thicker by the second, and with the new opening in the window, he has no doubt more are on their way. 

His uniform isn’t loose enough to pull up over his mouth, so he does his best to cover his face with his sleeve, and runs for the stairwell, ignoring the throbbing in his side.

He finds the group of workers clustered at the bottom, waiting for him.

“All right,” he tells them confidently. “Just stay behind me. I’m going to check outside to see what it looks like.” 

He cracks the door open, keeping his body between the street and the people. “Sam, how are we looking?” 

“Clear on your side of the street, Cap, but move fast. These things sure do.” 

“Got it. All team, be advised, these things have some sort of gas canister that can be released.” 

“Steve, did you get hit with this mystery gas?” Tony asks sharply. 

“Only briefly. I’m not experiencing any symptoms, but a normal person might. Just, everyone, be aware and be careful.” 

“Yeah, well, someone’s getting a medical checkup as soon as we get back,” Tony says, sounding irritated. In the background, Steve can hear the sound of his blasters firing. Down the street, there’s another explosion. 

“Looking forward to it.” He leans forward, scanning for threats, and flinches as pain stabs through him. He puts his hand to his side, and it comes away damp. The wound must be deeper than he thought if it’s taking this long for his healing to handle it. 

He ignores it for now. The serum will take care of it soon enough. 

Finding the coast clear, he beckons the civilians forward. He leads them down a side street, and towards the nearest police barrier. He waves them off, and they hurry on, with a couple grateful looks and a shouted “thank you Mr. Captain America sir!” 

He heads back towards the fight. “How are we looking, everyone?” 

“Sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard,” Tony quips. 

“By that he means we’ve got the worst of it under control,” Natasha says drily. “SHIELD’s here, they’re gathering up the pieces, though there’s a few strays near you if you want to swing by and take them out.”

“Sure, I’ll save you the walk,” he says. God, he’s tired. He’s definitely ready to get home and sleep in for once.

He counts three when he’s back on the street they started at. The first one goes down easy, with a single throw of the shield. The second is smashed to pieces by Thor before he has to do anything. 

It’s the third that almost gets him. 

He’s slower than he should have been. It was on the other side of the street, he should have had plenty of time to take it out before it could reach him.

But his limbs are don’t quite move when he tells them to, and his side aches, and it’s almost on top of him before he can raise his shield. 

He only barely blocks its claws as they come down towards his skull. 

He falls to the ground, his shield between the robot and his body, and the air rushes out of him as his back hits the ground. Pain lances through his side. 

He struggles to keep the claws away from him, straining against the snapping monster. The pain in his abdomen gets worse, splintering through him. 

And then, with the sound of crashing metal, the machine is ripped off of him. 

He’s only down for another second before instinct kicks in, and he struggles to his feet. 

Tony is untangling himself from the pile of freshly-charred metal that now lies on the sidewalk. He staggers to his feet, the mask withdrawing to show his face, worried. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he says breathlessly. “It just caught me off guard.” 

Tony frowns. “Seriously? It caught you off guard? Are you sure - ” his expression abruptly morphs into one of fear. “Steve, you’re bleeding.” 

“What - oh, it’s just a - oh,” he says, finally looking down at the dark crimson stain seeping through his uniform. He touches it lightly, and his glove comes away wet. “I thought it would be better by now,” he mumbles, blinking. His vision seems hazy.

Without him quite knowing how he got there, he realizes he’s on the ground. Someone above him is shouting. They sound frightened. 

“Is everything okay?” Steve slurs, concerned for them. 

Tony’s face appears in his line of sight. “Steve, you idiot, why didn’t you tell someone you were injured?” 

Steve’s brow furrows in confusion. “It was just a cut,” he mumbles. 

“He’s right,” Natasha’s voice says from somewhere close by. “For him, this should be healed already. Here, Clint, put pressure on it.” 

Something presses hard against his side, and Steve flinches and tries to curl away. 

“Hold still,” Clint’s voice says. 

“SHIELD’s got medics on the way,” Sam murmurs. 

“C’mon Steve, stay with us, they’re just a few minutes out,” Tony begs, but Steve is so, _so_ tired, and his eyes slip shut without his consent. 

The last thing he hears is Tony calling his name. 

… 

The first thing he hears when he wakes up is quiet beeping. 

The second is snoring. 

He takes a moment to get his bearings before opening his eyes. 

There’s stitches on his side, he can feel them when he takes a breath, but there isn’t the deep pain he’s felt from worse injuries. 

He’s under crisp sheets, and he can smell antiseptic. Hospital bay, then. There’s a TV playing something he doesn’t recognize, the volume turned down low in the background. Someone turns the page of a book off to his left. 

“I can tell you’re awake,” Natasha’s voice says softly, sounding amused. 

He blinks his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights overhead. 

“J, dim the lights,” she says, and Steve smiles gratefully at her once he can see painlessly. 

There’s a couch by the window that they seem to have dragged in from somewhere. Clint is perched on one end, angled towards the TV, and Sam on the other, a book in his hands. Sam grins at him. “Good to see you up and at ‘em, man.” 

“About time,” Clint adds. 

“Hey,” Steve rasps. 

On the other side of him, someone snores again, and he turns his head to see Thor sprawled across a chair, drooling in his sleep. 

The door swings open, and Bruce comes in, smiling when he sees Steve. “Hey there. JARVIS said you were awake, how are you feeling?” 

“Been worse. What happened?” 

Bruce grimaces, coming over to stand next to the bed. “Blood loss happened, mostly. That gas you breathed slowed your healing to basically normal human levels. Lucky for you, the wound wasn’t bad enough to kill a normal human, so we patched it up, and we’ve just been waiting for your body to flush out the drug and for your healing to kick in and take care of the rest.” 

Steve frowns. “They knew how to knock out the serum like that?”

Bruce shook his head quickly. “No, no. Best we can tell, they just got lucky. It was designed to kill regular humans, its affect on you was pure chance. In any case, Tony’s been personally supervising its collection and destruction. This won’t happen again,” he says firmly.

Steve relaxes somewhat. “How long has it been?” 

“You’ve been out for three days, Spangles,” Tony says, pushing the door open. He’s carrying a tray of drinks, and passes them out. “Clint, cappuccino. Sam, iced coffee with cream. Natasha, black coffee, you freak of nature. Bruce, green tea. Thor - hey, wake up,” he pokes the god with the coffee tray.

Thor wakes with a snort, blinking up at Tony. 

Tony hands him the cup in response. “Pumpkin spice.” 

Thor’s face splits into a grin. “Ah, thank you, my friend! My favorite.” He notices Steve, and beams even wider. “Steven! You’re awake! Wonderful!” 

“Hey, Thor,” he chuckles. 

Tony continues on as though uninterrupted. “Steve, I got you this fancy juice thing, because Bruce was being mean and said you shouldn’t have coffee as soon as you wake up.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “He needs rest, not caffeine.” 

“Why are you being so combative right now, I’m going along with your bossiness! I got him _juice_.” 

“Thank you, Tony, I really appreciate it,” Steve cuts in, trying not to laugh. 

Tony sets the drink on the side table, and steals the seat Natasha has her feet up on to flop down on. He props his own feet up on Steve’s bed. “So, what are we watching?” He nods at the TV. 

“Friends,” Natasha informs them. 

“Someone said I needed to watch that one,” Steve says from the bed. 

Clint turns to him, wide-eyed. “You haven’t seen _any_ of it yet?” 

Steve shakes his head. 

“Bruce, holy shit, can you pass me the remote? We’ll go back to the pilot.” 

Bruce gives a long-suffering sigh, handing over the remote from the table and pulling up another chair from off to the side. 

Steve reaches to adjust the pillows beneath his head so he can see the screen. Without being asked, Natasha presses the lever on the side of the bed, raising him slightly. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and she merely nods in response. 

He settles back into the pillows, growing tired once more. 

Around him, his team is relaxed, safe, happy. They fill the room with quiet commentary and laughter as they watch, and he smiles with them. 

He lets himself drift asleep to the sound of Friends, content.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I know it's generic as hell, but it was fun to write, so I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!!


End file.
